


Rehabilitation

by truc



Series: Obsession [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: The line between superhero and supervillain has never been thinner.Emotionally, mentally and physically unable to be Batman after the entire Batfamily and Selina Kyle have been tortured and murdered in front of him, Bruce has come back to Gotham as a gang lord controlling the city he used to protect. His gray morality is a few shades darker than normal.Superman is falling apart.Wonder Woman has to keep the Justice League united as the secrets kept have been ripping it apart at the very seams of its identity.Thank God the Joker is there to remind everyone what true evil looks like!***Continuation to Batman's disappearance. It is recommended you read that fic before reading this one. Otherwise, it is highly likely you'll find it confusing.





	1. Prologue

He had once been an ordinary man with an ordinary name and ordinary parents. 

He had once been the perfect example of a cog creaking each day to a tempo that wasn't his. 

One day, he had woken up, enlightened. 

He couldn't quite keep his stories straight about that day. It might have been a very bad day. Then again, it might have been a very normal day.

The only thing that mattered to him was that from that day on, he wasn't a cog anymore.

He instinctively knew he was meant to free people. To make them fly with laughter.

His inspiration came from nowhere and everywhere at once. The city was ablaze with it. The Bat, they whispered his name in reverence.

He just needed to make him lose his disguise, his lies and, then, the whole world would know better than the idiotic wheel of routine and order.

Batsy just needed the right push.

Then, he'd see the joke he'd played on the world when he pretended to be a hero...

It was time to carve a smile on that face! Ha ha ha!


	2. Help (1/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal tries to get help from Zatanna concerning Bruce.

Zatanna liked performing her art in public. She thrived off the wonder brightening people's eyes. They didn't get to see the monsters that came with her gift; they only saw the wondrous remnants of magic, a glimpse into the fabulous without the horrid afterthought of their price. 

If there was one thing she knew how to accomplish, it was how to get and maintain the audience's interest, to mesmerize them with the truth within the lie. 

After her shows, she normally felt energized. 

Today, she felt drained. She'd found the truth within the lie not too long ago.

She was not in the best state of mind to meet the Justice League member leaning on the wall of the corridor leading to her room. Always the performer, she smiled at him. "Hal."

The brunette directly asked, "Zatanna, can we meet somewhere private? We've got to talk."

She wearily nodded as she entered the room reserved to the artist. She didn't even bother changing her clothes as she only grabbed the nearest coat and removed her magician hat before coming out again. 

Hal seemed relieved to see her come out this quickly. Together, they walked to the nearest bar and, after ordering drinks, Zatanna sent out a spell to block out eavesdroppers. 

Uncharismatically silent, they sipped their beers. Finally, Hal stated, "We can't leave him alone, Zatanna."

Zatanna sipped once before settling down her beer. "I know," she muttered. 

Hal's eyes found hers in surprise. "You do? I thought I would need to convince you..."

Zatanna sadly shook her head. "You don't need to convince me of that... I've known him since before his parents' death, Hal. I know him enough to know he needs help."

Hal seemed to cheer up. "Well... In that case, this should be easier to discuss."

Zatanna closed her eyes. "I can't give you the help you want me to provide."

Hal blinked at her. "Why?"

Zatanna sighed. "I offered my help and he refused. I can't push him more than that."

"But he needs help! He's... not well. In any sense of the godd*mn word."

One of her lips curled up wryly. "I know. But I can't do it."

"Why? He asked for your help before, not from any one of the Justice League members. You are his childhood friend. Why can't you do it?" His exasperation resonated clearly in his tone.

Zatanna knew it wasn't really complicated; she had never been the one to push any of Bruce's boundaries before. She had always respected his wishes, despite how much he self-destructed since his parents' death. He'd told her to leave him alone after his parents' death and she had kept her distance. It was only after he had gone travelling for training that they had met again. That was their relationship. She'd always been there for him and he'd always been there for her. But, they never did push each other's carefully established boundaries. 

When Bruce had stopped trusting the Justice League, he'd turn to her for help. She'd always been there if he needed. But, only if he accepted her help. That was their relationship. 

Now, with his frail relationship with the Justice League members, it would be foolish to push his boundaries. If something did happen, who would he ask for help? He had no family and not much in the way of friends outside of the superhero community. 

Zatanna could not push him, especially not now, when he was alone.

"I simply can't insist with him," Zatanna quietly replied. "I'll lose all credibility. He needs someone he can ask for help. That's who I am, Hal. Diana and Clark were the ones who could fight him for his own wellbeing." That statement dampened the already terrible mood. She could see the tension in Hal's shoulders. 

His gaze fell to the table. "Zatanna. He's... a danger to himself and others as he is."

Zatanna had no doubt that was true. "I know."

Hal shook his head. "You don't. When he gave me back the green ring, he fell. He couldn't physically stand up! Batman wasn't able to stand up without the ring, Zatanna, and he's alone in a hazardous mansion. It's like watching very old people tackle an ice rink for the first time." It broke her heart to hear it. Still, her resolution was strong. "Hal, someone else will have to confront him about his wellbeing. I'm sorry."

They sat there, face to face, for a long time. He must have seen her candidness; he backed off as he lifted his hands in the air to say he was giving up. "Sorry I ruined your evening."

She halfheartedly smiled. "Don't worry. It would have been hard to save it anyway."


	3. Strained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark visits Bruce.

Clark shifted the tray of coffee in his hand.

His mind delved in possible topics, none fitted the occasion. The shame and fear warred in his stomach.

The breeze should have felt refreshing. It only gave him goosebumps. God. Could he even be allowed to crawl in Bruce's presence?

He swallowed down his nervosity again and exhaled. His hand shook as he pressed the doorbell of the impressive Manor.

He could use his power to see whether anyone was coming to answer the door. Instead, Clark pushed back his glasses. He exaggeratedly slouched forward in a way even the clumsy reporter he was pretending to be had never done.

The magnificent door resolutely stayed shut in his face for far longer than any of his friendly visits lightyears ago.

Maybe Bruce isn't even there. Stupid, a small voice whispered, of course, he won't ever see you again. He told you he wanted things to revert to how they were, but that's not going to happen. You shouldn't have believed his lies...

The door swung open before Clark could finish processing his thoughts. He hastily opened his mouth to say a casual greeting and stopped himself when he saw the profound blankness in Bruce's eyes.

"Clark, good to see you. Come in." The words and tone rung true to form, but they still rang hollow. Clark walked in, feeling too big, too clumsy, too stupid for whatever this was. He had never felt this out of place before.

He followed Bruce to the living room, a place they had never spent any time together. Bruce gestured him to sit with the same impetuous gesture he had always used. Clark obeyed so quickly he couldn't be sure he hadn't used his superspeed. 

Bruce sat on the couch in front of Clark, eyes still trained on him, despite the hollowness in his best friend's face. For what felt like an eternity, Clark simply stared at his former best friend, unsure what to do. 

"Clark," Bruce casually asked, "I think the coffee is going cold."

Clark blinked and noticed he still held the coffee tray. "Uh... I brought you coffee?" 

Bruce remained motionless. Clark's heart sank. It felt like looking at an elegant toy who no longer served any purpose or use, waiting for its inevitable destruction. And it was all of Clark's fault. 

He needed to be brave and face the consequences of his actions. 

"Here you... go..." Clark stuttered quite naturally as he laid down a cup in front of the beautiful man in front of himself. For, no matter what Bruce had done in the past three years, for, no matter which new wounds he had gained along the way, he was still handsome with his sharp cheekbones, cold blue eyes, black hair and soft lips. 

Clark nervously drank his coffee, mind whirling with topics of conversation. The silence lasted so long Clark was surprised when Bruce spoke first. 

"Since when are you interested in becoming a foreign correspondence reporter?"

"Uh?"

Bruce tilted his head in the way that had always meant "you heard me the first time."

Clark nodded and fidgeted. "I thought it was time for me to gain distance."

"Is that why you published a three-year Bruce Wayne special and a Batman special commemorating both their accomplishments?"

The reporter squirmed in his seat. This was hell. 

"That wasn't about distancing myself..."

Bruce almost looked bored as he asked, "I'm surprised it didn't occur to you that you were linking both identities together..."

It hadn't, Clark realized with a start. He had made another mistake for which Bruce might pay the price.

Bruce mildly continued, "I'm surprised Perry even let you publish these specials, especially seeing as this vastly differs from your usual opinion piece." It did raise a few eyebrows at the Daily Planet.

Clark gulped his coffee, feeling as if he was sweating even though he physically couldn't. Bruce's nonchalance was infinity worse than any recrimination he might have voiced.

"I'm sorry," Clark muttered in his coffee cup. Bruce's brilliant eyes rested on his, "Why would you be sorry?" There was not even a hint of sarcasm. 

Clark sobbed, "I'm sorry, Bruce."

"What for?" Bruce repeated, looking perplexed and distant. 

Clark burst in tears in earnest, incapable of keeping this simulacrum of friendly interaction going any longer. When he saw the indifference on Bruce's face, he couldn't stand it any longer; he rose, mumbled stupid excuses and ran away. 

It only occurred to him much later that Bruce hadn't even touched the cup of coffee he had brought him. 

***

This was hell, Bruce thought as he retched in the toilet. His stomach kept protesting any solid food he'd tried to ingest since Clark's visit. His traitorous body was still shaking from the effort of answering the door and walking to the living room without help. He couldn't look weak, especially not in front of Clark.

With effort, he pushed himself up and washed his face with the sink's cold water. He looked in the mirror and hated the image reflected in it. Gaunt, tired, weak... So infuriatingly weak he couldn't do anything without the rings or technology. 

He felt imprisoned in his own body. And he knew it would only grow worse with time. 

That wasn't even the worst of it. 

He didn't know what he wouldn't pay to erase all traces of his own cursed existence from this world. His hands clenched at the thought. Nobody would have died because of him. Nobody would have killed for him. 

He wanted to hear their voices again. 

To hear Jason's venomous accusations of causing his death twice and never punishing his murderers. "You don't fucking care about us." He wanted Jason to beat him with his guns and torture him to death. To hear his youngest chastise him, "Father, you are too lenient with the Alien." Damian would prove his worth to his grandfather by neatly slicing his head off. Cass would destroy his pride by humiliating him with defeats upon defeats before throwing him to be eaten alive by dogs. He'd deserve it. He'd want it if it meant he would get to see and hear them again, even for one moment. 

But, no. Nobody offered him that deal. They'd let him live. 

Without any ghosts. 

He wanted to laugh. 

Ghosts. People pretended to be so scared of them. 

What they were really scared of was the opposite: their loved ones completely disappearing at their deaths. That they would be left with the void to fill on their own. He knew because he had once gone through that phase.

After his parents' death, Bruce had diligently searched for their ghosts, hoping they could haunt him. 

When the others had died, he had known better than to foolishly pray for their remnants to drift about.

He couldn't remember exactly their voices or their face, at least, not other than in recordings, videos and photos. He could only grasp at memories...

Bruce wasn't surprised to see shards of glass stuck in one of his hands and hair and blood dripping all over the sink even if he didn't remember hitting the mirror. 

Blood. 

All his blood had been removed from his body. Nobody bound him to life. He was a golem without a master. 

If only he could hear his family blaming him for their deaths. It'd be better than this dull silence and fake interactions.


	4. Therapy (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Clark differ in the way they think of their own mental health...

Clark leaned back, trying to find a comfortable position on the couch. Somehow, his skin always itched. 

"Mister Kent? Are you ready to start?" 

"Uh... yes."

"Good," the lady commented as her pen glided across her notepad. "Would you like me to explain today's process?"

"Please do." Clark nervously adjusted his glasses.

"Today," she intoned, "we are simply going to determinate the goals you want to set for yourself. It is important we address what you feel is necessary. Maybe, you could give a brief explanation of how you came to want to change." 

Clark nodded. "That seems fine." 

The lady wrote something down. "You may start whenever you feel ready." 

***  
Meanwhile, in Gotham

"Tom," Bruce's transformed voice called out to his subordinate. "What happened to Crime Alley?"

The man's voice responded in his ear, "We lost part of the control on it, Sir."

"How is that possible?" Bruce tried to keep his annoyance out of his voice as he rubbed his forehead. 

He knew he wasn't as successful as he had hoped when he heard his subordinate swallow. "We had to bring more men to the Arbour to stop the Penguin's disembarkment."

"Yes, but I already told you the Black Mask gang would use it as a distraction to strike back against us. I provided detailed plans on how to cover Gotham without stretching our gang too thin." Now, Bruce could hear the irritation ringing clear in his mechanical voice even as he chastised his subordinate.

"Yes, but, we had to improvise. We didn't think Black Mask would bring that many men and weapons that far south. We almost lost four men to their surprise attack."

Bruce felt his anger beating in his head. "I gave you plans for that specific circumstance. You should have not have broken them for flimsy ideas."

Tom mumbled, "But, your plans are hard to follow. There are "if's" everywhere in them. We need something less convoluted."

Bruce had officially lost his paper-thin layer of patience. "You understood them. Why didn't you follow them?" He knew the man he'd chosen as the interim leader of his gang was a skeptic. He was also reluctant to trust his own leader. That was one of the reasons Bruce had chosen him; it should help to keep their relationship distant.

Tom quickly answered, "I'll manage it next time."

"You better do."

***

"There's... not much to say," Clark started as he interlaced his fingers on his lap. 

"A while ago, I was told by one of my good friends that I needed help. And she was right. My girlfriend had already advocated for me to start therapy."

"Do you know why they asked you to attend therapy?"

Clark relentlessly shifted his feet, still trying to find a way not to acknowledge his growing discomfort. "I know why they did," he quietly answered. 

There was a pause before his therapist continued. "Why did you decide to attend?"

Clark closed his eyes and felt Bruce's strange heartbeat rhythm. Since he had come back, it hadn't taken Clark a long time to figure out the other man's steady strong heartbeat had become irregular and faint. He was ill or injured. Maybe both.

"Mr. Kent?"

"...Yes?"

"I seem to have lost you. I asked why you decided to come today?"

Clark thought back to Bruce's expression and desperate struggles when Superman had murdered everyone important in his best friend's life. "Because I harmed someone I love." 

The therapist's voice softened. "And you don't want to hurt them again?"

"I..." The words faltered. 

***  
Gotham

"We cau't three of Black Mask's men," Peera excitedly buzzed in Bruce's earpiece, "S'all we make t'em 'xample?"

"Peera," Bruce growled, "Follow Tom's lead. We don't kill them."

"No?" Peera sounded disappointed. "But, t'ey kill us!"

Bruce looked at the map of Gotham on his computer. "We are better than them." Peera was young. He would learn better. Maybe. Bruce felt it didn't particularly matter anyway.

"What are the informants saying about the Penguin's next move?" Bruce's mechanical voice responded before Peera could return to his disappointment with the lack of their enemies' deaths. 

"Som't'ing is go'ing on."

"Mmm. Thank you. We'll talk later tonight." 

Bruce dialled his next subordinate, the one he hated the most addressing. "Tiffany."

"Yes?" the amused female voice responded. 

"We need information."

"Does that mean I finally get my okay to torture the Penguin's followers we caught last week?" 

He despised this part the most. "Only one. And only with the techniques I approved."

"You're no fun, Boss," the red-haired playfully growled back with the deep Narrow accent, "You should really let me torture them all... They'd all talk."

"Tiffany, you know that information taken by torture is mostly useless. Which is why we only use torture to get the others to talk. At the end of the night, we want to convert them to our side, not murder all the other gangs." 

"But it's too slow," the woman pouted over her earpiece. Bruce hated dealing with her because she was the one who reminded him the most of Selina and Jason, especially because of her proud Narrow accent.

Bruce had wanted to regret dragging his crew into his gang. However, nowadays, he felt too hollow to even feel guilt for the souls he'd use to pacify the ever-hungry-monster that was Gotham. 

***

"Mr. Kent?"

Clark blinked. 

"Are you still with me?"

"Yes..." He lied. His mind was dissecting Bruce's conversations, filling information about the people who were now involved in his life. 

He heard his friend exhaled in exasperation. His grip on Gotham must have been more precarious than he had hoped.

"Maybe, we should head in another direction, Mr. Kent. Would you like to talk about something you enjoy doing?"

Clark briefly wondered why he was letting someone distract him from Bruce. It was clear, now that he had thought through his conversation with Bruce, that Bruce needed to be monitored 24/7. He might escape again or get hurt.

He suddenly recalled he was here to get help. 

"Is that fine, Mr. Kent?"

"Yes, that sounds perfect," Clark heard himself reply. The scuffling of a pen made him whip his head up.

She was writing notes. "Terrible attention span." "Lack of focus." "Perturbed." "He doesn't seem to want to be here." "Doesn't seem to have a clear goal in mind."

Clark closed his eyes. Judgments. He could almost see the weighty eyes of the Justice League members bearing on him. Could they even sentence him to worse than Bruce had done?

"You can start describing a hobby, Mr. Kent."

Clark heard the flapping of the wings in his mind. "I have always had an inquisitive mind, Mrs. Lin. When I was younger, I lived on a farm. The sky hung vast above our head. It was only natural I'd look at stars and asked why they didn't all shine at the same intensity." Bruce was typing some notes again on his computer. Was he overworking himself?

"My eyes always lingered on the exceptionally bright lights, wondering what made them so distinctive. I read and read on the subject. I never could really find answers that would satisfy me. They'd always say it was the distance between the star and Earth, the star's age and size that explained the brightness. However, it failed to explain the underlying reason why some stars burned brighter and longer than others." Of course, Clark could not know what Bruce was typing because even by listening to the sound of the key being hit, he was sure Bruce was typing in a code Clark didn't understand. Clark felt his hand fidget at the secrecy. Maybe Bruce intended on running again.

"Mr. Kent. Do you still observe the skylight at night?" 

"No," Clark vaguely answered. After the moment dragged on, he realized he needed to give a longer comment. His head dropped and his glasses slipped down his nose. 

"I found it too lonely to admire stars from afar," Clark explained. 

The pause lingered so long his therapist prompted him with another question. "Do you have another hobby?"

Hobby? 

When was the last time he had had time for a hobby?

He was Clark Kent: reporter extraordinaire, a farmer's son and a sweet boyfriend. He was Superman: hero, saviour and a figure of hope. He was Kal: the last of his kind and the sole survivor of a genocide.

He was Clark Kent. Irredeemable murderer.

The reporter coughed to give himself more time to respond. 

"I..." Unfortunately, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Did you know bats are the only mammals that can fly?"

Clark could feel the woman look up from her notebook. "You like bats?" 

Only one, he could have told her. Instead, he chuckled, "I'm a strange man, aren't I?"

"There's nothing wrong with liking bats," the woman replied in a voice that tried to be non-judgmental. But Clark could hear her confusion. 

"It's funny; most people I speak to prefer birds. They fly elegantly, they'd tell me." Clark leaned forward. "But that's the thing. Birds are made to fly. Mammals aren't. And that makes them special." Bruce swallowed some pills. Pain killers? Unlikely. Clark would have to discreetly investigate.

"You prefer bats because they are an exception?"

That drew a small smile from Clark. "They are an acquired taste. They fly with the equivalent of webbed fingers. Birds fly with the equivalent of arms. Meaning, it is natural for a bird to fly."

"Even the ostrich?" An amused therapist answered. 

Clark waved the example away. "Some birds can't fly, that's true. What is interesting is seeing a bat fly, not a bird walk. It's not natural for a bat to fly. It makes me wonder how exactly the bat came to fly. I read different theories on the matter and I still can't make my mind up." Lex Luthor had once said Bruce being a hero meant he was going against his profound nature. Clark supposed that, in a way, he had been right.

"Are you an expert? You seem to know quite a lot about them."

Clark shook his head, "I'm no chiropterologist; I'm just an amateur." 

The reporter glanced at the notes the therapist was taking. "Likes exceptions." "Had a childhood filled with solitude."

She wasn't exactly wrong in her assessment of him, but neither was she exactly right. Most people usually aren't.

Bruce was lying on his bed.

"Mr. Kent, I am under the impression you are not here of your own volition. Am I right?"

For the first time since the start of the conversation, Clark focused his eyes on the woman in the room. "That's an interesting question, Mrs. Lin. That reasoning implies that people exist and do things because they want to. Do you actually believe that?" 

The woman opened her mouth, but Clark interrupted her with an angry hand wave, something out of character. "Most people don't end up being the person they wanted to be. We don't even get a vote on how, when or even if we want to be born. We are all pulled into the world against our wishes and we make do with our circumstances."

Mrs. Lin eyed him cautiously, her hand caught in the air above her paper. "You don't believe in choices, Mr. Kent?"

That was the problem; Clark did believe in choices. 

Bruce had chosen to marry Selina. And Clark, under some sort of compulsion, had killed everyone Bruce loved. 

Diana had hugged him hard after Bruce's return, telling him over and over it wasn't his fault. 

Maybe telling that platitude to a six-years-old accidentally shooting his sibling with the gun his parents had left outside was appropriate. 

In Clark's case, things were much murkier. He had wanted to be Bruce's most important person in his life. Jealousy was too tame a term for the mixed bag of feelings that had rushed through his mind. It was as if he had gained all-encompassing envy of Bruce's parts of life; a mindless need to be there exclusively for him. 

Since seeing Bruce indifferently seeing him in the Manor, Clark felt he couldn't leave his former best friend alone. But he couldn't stand the suffocating indifference in his presence either. 

He'd come to an impasse. His compromise was to watch over Bruce until things between them were fixed.

"I came here," Clark quietly admitted at his lap, "to get fixed."

Miss Lang paused and wrote down on her notepad. Finally, she answered, "You don't need to be fixed, Mr. Kent. You just need help to manage whatever is troubling you. You also have to manage your expectations or you'll get disappointed with what I am doing."

That was another cheesy lie everyone wanted to believe. In truth, things were either fixed or they weren't.

Bruce's sleeping breath came as a reassurance. At least, there was hope.


	5. Help (2/4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal goes to see Ollie.

"Ollie? You there?" Hal asked the dark room.

Glazed eyes found him and Hal could see the dull reflection of a wine bottle near it.

"Hal, what pleasure," Ollie darkly muttered. Hal pressed the interrupter and received an annoyed groan for his action.

"Close the damn light!" the Green Arrow vigilante yelled as he blocked his eyes.

Hal's gaze took in the disaster that was Ollie's living room. "It's three in the afternoon, Ollie, and you are sitting alone in the dark with curtains closed and a lot of empty bottle of wine. I think you owe me an explanation."

"F*ck off," Ollie grumbled, "I'm not in the mood to entertain assh*les..."

Hal examined more closely his friend. He noticed the unkempt facial hair (well, more than usual, at least) and the stained clothing. Ollie was normally too vain to wear dirty clothing. Something big had happened beyond Ollie's usual mood swings.

"You look like an avocado had babies with pineapple vomit, Ollie. What the hell happened?"

Ollie half tried to stand up and pathetically failed. The pilot moved forward to help him get comfortable on the couch. After adjusting Ollie with an armoury of pillows, Hal stepped back. "Did Di leave you?" Why else would Ollie and his penthouse be in this much of a mess?

Ollie shorted. "You think she had enough of an assh*le like me in her life?"

Hal really had enough of Ollie's crappy mood. "I've never seen you act like this over anyone but Dinah."

That sobered up Ollie and a sombre expression appeared on his face; he took a wine bottle and tried to drink up. The billionaire stopped swallowing when he noticed the bottle was empty. He shifted in his seat, trying to reach other bottles. "You're right, though. It's about Dinah. But it's not a fight, or at least, not in the way you obviously think it is."

Hal pushed off the empty bottles on the lazy boy before seating himself. "Well?"

"She got cancer, leukemia to be exact," Ollie admitted, his eyes fixed to the ground. 

Hal's eyes widened. "You're kidding me."

"I wish," Ollie said before trying on another bottle. With a wince, he relinquished it. 

Hal looked at Ollie disgustingly trying to reach for the next available bottle. "That's what you're going to do? Drink yourself to death while she's suffering?"

" Don't be a pr*ck, Hal. I'm just 'coping' with the news. Don't worry; I'll be supportive as hell. I've already made appointments with the best specialists. She's gone to see her relatives. I'll be strong for her... Just, not right now." 

Hal kind of felt like a douchebag. It certainly wasn't his place to comment on how his friend reacted to the news; Hal had admittedly reacted worse to lesser circumstances. "Anything I can do?"

Olly snorted, "Unless you have the cure for Leukemia in your ring, there's not much you can do."

"You don't want me to help you clean up this pigsty?"

The billionaire finally found a bottle that wasn't quite empty. "Thanks, but I think I can manage to rinse a few wine bottles and use a broom. I'm not that incompetent!" Ollie took a sip. "Tell me what brings you to my humble abode."

Hal stood up. "Maybe next time. You're too much of a mess to help me out right now."

"I'm actually a better listener when I'm fairly drunk."

Hal rolled his eyes. 'Course, he would be. 

"Are you sure? I'm not exactly a bearer of good news."

Ollie gestured him to say his piece. 

The pilot crossed his arms. "Fine. I came here because Bruce needs some serious help and he's certainly not accepting it from me."

Ollie chuckled. "Welcome to the club."

The pilot shook his head. "It's not the same, Ollie. You were childhood friends. When I say stuff, I'm just "Lantern" while you get away with being called "Ollie."

Ollie slouched back with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He did say 'Shut up Ollie' last time I visited. I should feel privileged the Bat at least remembers my name."

Hal could remember that Ollie only increased his sarcasm when he was pissed off. "Well, at this point, Ollie, I'll take what advantage I can. Bruce needs help. He can't even walk normally without the rings! And he's gonna rot in that palace alone? I don't think so." 

Ollie rolled on the couch with bitter laughter for a few seconds. Lazily, he levelled his eyes at Hal. "He needs help. That's like... his mantra, Hal, since I've known him. Guess what. He doesn't want help. I know, I've seen others try; f*ck, I've even tried. It just hurts."

"But he's going to get himself killed."

"I supposed that would be hilarious if it wasn't such a lie." The billionaire grimaced as he gulped his wine. "Thing is, Hal, he survives anything, exactly like the d*mn cockroach he is. He's self-destructive to the bone, but not suicidal; he's careless with his life but not reckless." With the subtle play of light, Ollie's face seemed to suddenly grow darker. "Dinah is dying, Hal, and I've been burned way too many times by Bruce to give an f*ck if he's being stubborn again. Dinah wants me to help her. Bruce doesn't. I'm not wasting my time on him when I can be there for my wife when she needs me."

Hal supposed he really had gotten Ollie at a bad time to discuss this matter. "I shouldn't have brought it up now."

Ollie sniffed. "It wouldn't have mattered. My answer would have always been the same." 

The pilot knew this was as clear a dismissal as he would get. "Well, I gotta go, Ollie, but keep me updated on Dinah and you. If you need anything, especially palatable chilli, I'll help you out."

Hal heard the muttered 'There's nothing wrong with my chilli' as he closed the door.

Dinah... 

Hal closed his eyes. Why couldn't everything be as the Justice League's Golden Age? 

He could picture them at the beginning of their legends when good was simply good and bad simply bad. Before things got worse. Before Barry and his easy smile had died. Before Superman had gotten weird and Batman, tragic. Before mental health illness and cancer was a thing...

Good guys simply had to punch and arrest bad guys. The public would applaud them as heroes. There was no mind control and no complications. Carol still casually flirted with him; piloting planes was still thrilling; exploring the universe was fun rather than depressing... 

Those times were long over. 

Ollie was an unrepentant alcoholic; Dinah had leukemia; Diana was unable to process Steve's death; Clark was acting strangely; Wally had had a mental breakdown; Arthur had closed himself off in Atlantis; J'onn had grown lonelier and; Bruce was physically unable to take care of himself. 

What was the period set after the Golden Age? The "are we all doing the right thing" one? Or the "sad depressed ancient has-beens"? 

Well, both sucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit ironic that Ollie keeps refusing Hal's help, but complains about Bruce being incapable of accepting help...


	6. Medea's Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superman is in danger.

Superman felt that something was wrong. It was a chilling sensation originating in his abdomen and flourishing in the dryness of his mouth. Usually, he would have checked in with the Justice League. 

But.

They now knew about what he had done to Bruce's family. 

If he called in, how would they react?

Superman closed his eyes. Would he be banned from the League and other associations? Would he be exiled or condemned in the Phantom Zone? 

Bruce had told him they would be 'friends.' That there would not be any other punishment.

Did the others agree with that? And even if they did, how would they look upon him? 

The emotions in his stomach swelled until it hurt. Swallowing, Superman knew he was on his own. In any of the other members of the Justice League's shoes, he would never have forgiven himself.

Fires in a Lexcorps warehouse never seemed innocent. Nonetheless, it was hardly the first time Superman had tackled his archenemy. He'll be fine on his own.

Floating in by a window-now broken-, Superman used his cold breath to freeze the fire. Despite his hyperawareness, he was still surprised when he heard the accentuated voice say: "You took your time."

Spinning at superspeed, Superman felt two bullets whirling past him, narrowly missing him. He felt momentarily weak as the silhouette rushed towards him. Kryptonite, a flash of insight came to his mind. He needed to retreat. Unfortunately, the brutally efficient figure fired shots, cutting his way out. Superman was too wary of Kryptonite to catch them in mid-air. Instead, Superman pushed wooden boxes in the way of his attacker. 

The leaner figure jumped over them and shot his way. 

Superman could feel sweat falling his face and the gripping chill associated with Kryptonite. He needed backup now. Pressing his comms, Superman jumped out of his attacker's direction. 

She, of course, Superman had almost forgotten her look and speech pattern, was relentless. She used her famous Katana skills to push Superman's hand out of his ear before he could request help. 

With a well-placed kick, the attacker sent Superman skirting, back first, into the floor. Her green-tingled eyes gleamed warningly as she crushed Superman's knee. A yelped of pain escaped him.

She hadn't changed much from the last time Superman had seen her; her green and black bodysuit, her gloves and her boots smugly fitted her honed body while the white belt and holster accentuated her waist; a ponytail held her brown hair away from her arrogant cheekbones. Now, she looked more like a banshee than a full-blooded woman. 

"Don't try to call your friends," Talia warned. The tip of the green-hued katana hovered over Superman's neck, underlying Talia's point. Was this why she had worked with Lex Luthor in the past year?

"What do you want?" Superman asked the perpetual wild card ex-lover of Bruce's. 

"Blood for blood," the woman answered as she pressed on the knee she had busted. It hurt so much. "You killed my son. I will kill you."

"No, you won't," a familiar voice came from Superman's suit. Surprised, Superman glanced down to see... nothing. His powers were waning quickly. It had to be a microphone.

When had Bruce had the chance to install a two-way microphone on his suit? The answer came as quickly. He had done so when he had put the blue Kryptonite necklace over his head when the new Green Lantern was revealed to be Bruce in disguise.

"Beloved, you have no say on the matter," Talia answered.

"I do." 

Talia pressed the Kryptonite covered katana against Superman's neck. Clark grew dizzy and weak. "He killed our son and you are too weak to avenge him, Beloved." If looks could kill, Superman would have already been dead. As it were, he was sweating profusely, waiting for his just punishment.

"You cannot claim to avenge a son you once killed," Bruce harshly answered her, something akin to an Arabic accent mixed in his English. Superman had rarely heard him so furious.

Talia winced back. However, her voice was steady when she answered, "Parents have the say of life or death over their children. Your friends do not." Even to Superman's dizzy vision, he could see she was rationalizing her action. Although she hadn't taken Damian's life with her own hands, she had given the orders to do so. 

Superman had never understood how Bruce had agreed to speak to his former lover after that incident. He certainly wouldn't have wanted anything to do with an ex-lover who murdered their son to hurt him. 

He flinched at the thought. Bruce was talking to him after he had tortured and killed his family. Following his logic, Bruce wouldn't ever speak with Clark.

Talia narrowed her eyes at Clark, waiting in silence for Bruce's rebuttal. 

"You own me a life," Bruce firmly said through the microphone on Superman's suit.

Talia opened her mouth and he interrupted before she said a word. 

"You own me a life," Bruce repeated with an air of finality. "On your request, I spared your father's life three years ago, Talia. I ask that you honour that debt now. You will not kill Superman, Kal-El nor Clark Kent."

Talia's face distorted in rage. "My son was murdered by your alien pet. How dare you let him live? Blood must spill."

"You can cut off one of Superman's limb if you need," Bruce helpfully suggested. "However, you will not harm Superman any more than that."

The woman towering over Superman glared at him. Finally, after a deliberate moment, she lowered her head until it was on the same level as Superman's head. Talia slowly returned her Kryptonite stubbed katana to her scabbard. 

"My father's life is worth much more than this worm," Talia announced. "I will not sully my honour on this." Superman had rarely felt as helpless as he was now that he was pinned to the floor by a Kryptonite welding ninja's glare.

"Besides, death would be too swift of a punishment," Talia disdainfully added.

Talia exhaled and straightened up. Her lips curled in an evil smirk. "Bruce can be so much crueller," she whispered in a way only Superman, despite his general weakness, would catch the words. "He doesn't ever let go of those he once loved. Even when he can't forgive them." There was an undercurrent of sadness in her statement. Superman understood that she was also talking about herself. In hindsight, it explained a lot about Bruce's behaviour with Talia; as unforgivable as she was, orphaned Bruce clung dearly to whoever he had ever cared for. Bruce was not a man who could handle losing people in his life gracefully. He hoarded feelings and people he rightfully should have discarded from his life.

"One day, you'll mistakenly believe he forgave you. He'll hurt you more than any limbs I may cut. When that happens, remember that this is my vengeance too." There was much poison in Talia's whispered words and even more relish. 

Without further ado, the mysterious woman disappeared into the warehouse's shadows, exiting in the same fashion as the Batfamily did. Another bitter thought. In spite of everything, Talia and Bruce were linked. 

But so was Clark. 

Superman had not engaged in a one-way stalking contest. 

There, at the back of his mind, he could feel the deeply disturbing satisfaction that Bruce was also spying on him.

Bruce listened to him. 

"Thank you," Clark told the stale air of the building. Only silence answered him. No matter, Clark knew Bruce had heard him.

Alone in an abandoned Luthor warehouse and cheeks wet with salty water, Clark felt relieved. 

In the ways that mattered, he wasn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, in canon, Damian got killed by another Bruce-Talia engineered son, on Talia's orders. Damian was somehow brought back by Bruce going to Akropolis and doing a ton of suicidal stuff. Basically, Bruce is not impressed that the ex-lover who killed their son wants to avenge him. 
> 
> Medea is a woman who murders her children to take revenge on her husband. I thought it was fitting for the Talia-Clark encounter.
> 
> The preliminary preparations to the main event are almost finished...


	7. Help (3/4)

_A few hours earlier._

 

Hal impatiently knocked on the door. "Are you there?"

"Enter," the Justice League leader responded. Green Lantern had no choice. He pushed the interrupter and entered into Diana's quarters.

Her room was clean and organized, almost sterile and impersonal. Gone were the colourful gifts from Themiscrya that once adorned the walls and bed. Instead, there were two pictures on her bed table. In the first, Diana was teasingly pulling Steve toward her. In the second, Diana was in the middle of Batman and Superman, all of them smiling-or in Batman's case, smirking.

Hal's mouth dried at the nostalgic display. It reminded him of the oft-forgotten pictures on his walls: Barry and Carol appearing in them more than their fair share.

Diana turned around, unchanged by mortal years. Young, yet less vibrant than she had previously seemed. "Hal," she called out, "It's nice to see you. What can I do for you?"

"Do you have a moment to spare? Our conversation may take a while."

Without batting an eye, Diana gestured to the chairs. "Please take a seat. I have to prepare, but you can make yourself comfortable."

Green Lantern shook his head, "I'm sorry I got you on your way out."

She gave him an amused smile- a shadow of the ones she used to bestow in the earlier years of the League. "We're always on our way out, Hal; life is fleeting. Don't waste an opportunity for honest communication."

"Right," Hal felt unprepared with the turn of the conversation.

Bright and wise eyes studied his awkward posture. "Don't hesitate now, Hal; it doesn't suit you. We're both people who face challenges straight on."

"It's just... You're the third person I'm bringing this up with and; I didn't have much luck with it the past two times." Hal pushed back his hair. Diana's patient posture ensured he had the League's leader's full attention.

"He's not doing well at all, Diana. Without the rings- and he returned them, he has trouble walking. He's in a massive mansion without any help. And that's not even touching on his mental issues."

As troubled as Diana seemed, she didn't make any move other than crossing her arms. "And?"

Hal felt as if he was hitting the same wall he had with Zatanna and Ollie. He gestured in her pictures' direction, "He's one of your best friends, Diana. Can't you do something about it?"

The woman briefly closed her eyes. "What sort of action are you looking for, Hal?"

Taken aback, Hal stilled. "He needs someone to look out for him on a full-time basis."

"And who should he trust with that, Hal? You know as I do that his trust is hard to earn and easy to lose," Diana disclosed.

Hal uncharacteristically shifted his feet. Why was he even in this awkward position?

"He could hire a professional. Hell, he has more than enough money to hire a few dozens of them!"

Diana shook her head; her lips thinned. "He is the League's former master of secrets. He knows the weight of those secrets, Hal. I doubt he has a plan for being incapacitated without his family's support that relies on strangers caring for him."

He frowned. "Master of secrets? What kind of a title is that?"

Diana sighed. "On Themiscrya, there was always a secrets' expert, one who dedicated her life to the unravelling of mysteries. Bruce would be the League's equivalent. The Queen might lose, but the secrets' expert could never fall alive among enemies' hands. The lost of knowledge is less damaging than the loss of secrecy. In the Men's World, enemies are not so easily recognized."

Hal raised his eyebrows, feeling nauseous. "You mean, he would kill himself before asking for outside help?"

She reluctantly nodded as she slightly turned away. "What other choices are there?" she softly asked. "He's made peace with this, Hal, a long time ago."

"Are you part of some medieval cult?" Hal angrily muttered. He pointed in her direction. "You let him rot in his Manor, terrified of asking for help, for some misguided strategic reason?!? We can have him committed to an asylum under a fake identity! Anything is better than this crappy situation!"

Diana's gaze hardened as it cut through him. "Is it better? I've seen how Men's World alienates the elderly and the sick; I've seen how they are forgotten and abandoned in ugly and stiffening buildings. Instead of seeing them as wellsprings of knowledge, your society views them as eyesores. If Bruce wishes to receive a warrior's death, who am I to deny it? Despite our differences, despite our present incompatibility, he has earned that right. He's competent to make his choices."

Hal roared, "He's competent to make his choices?!? Have you seen the guy? There's nothing sane about locking himself alone in his hole and refusing help! He's going to die if we don't do anything."

Diana glared at him. "He has a League communicator; I made sure of that. If he needs help, he'll call us."

Hal laughed hysterically. "In what fucked-up fantasy are you living in?"

The woman straightened her shoulders as if she was daring him to insult her. "You don't understand him at all, Hal."

Hal gestured her to keep talking. "Oh, fearless leader, please enlighten this ignorant fool."

Diana gritted her teeth, determination shining through her clenched jaw's movement. "You see him as a weak, depressed and broken man. Nothing is farther from the truth; Bruce has always been frail, not brittle. Careful not to stir his anger upon yourself by pushing too hard; least he takes us as his enemies."

"He knows enough secrets to send all of our superhero and civilian identities to jail. Worse still, should he ever whisper poisoned orders in Superman's ears, Kal will not hesitate to slaughter us. We spent years thinking of Batman as our Superman's contingency plan. Now, there is so very little our Superman won't do for Bruce. Even a stray suggestion from Bruce would see Superman killing himself to atone."

Hal wasn't sure what was more disturbing; Diana quietly claiming one of her best friends would murder everyone her other best friend tells him to or the fact that Diana seemed so blasé about it.

"Nobody has ever had this level of leverage on the most powerful superhero. Nobody has ever had this level of knowledge on all of our lowest moments. And you think Bruce is weak and helpless." Diana glared at Hal, something challenging in her gaze.

Hal wanted to scratch his head. Why did Diana see Bruce as a danger? He was the victim; a mind-controlled Superman had been the aggressor. Why would Diana fear Bruce now? "That's your excuse for not helping? He's too dangerous?"

Diana softened a bit, her lips pinched together. "This world needs a working League. At this time, I believe Bruce's bitterness will not help mend the tear in its fabric. I wish him well and; I'll invite him to seek help. However, the last time I've offered him help, he truthfully answered there was nothing I could do. I will respect his free-will."

Hal crossed his arms, furious. "That's a load of crap, Diana, and you know it. You're letting him rot because you don't have the time and energy to spare your friend from his imminent death."

Eyes shining, Diana answered, "Bruce is an independent person. He can choose his path even if I dislike its direction."

Diana and Hal looked at each other, mirrors of opposing principles and philosophies. Strangely enough, over the years, their position had switched; Hal, once the proponent of free-will, no longer wished for its logical conclusion; Diana, once the ultimate fighter for life, understanding that disrespecting someone's choice was unforgivable, had strived to accept human's self-determination.

On the subconscious level, Hal understood he had left most of the League perennity's burden on other people's shoulders. Over the years, the burden's straps had dug into their backs. Diana had wielded hers with a leader's dignity. Along the way, she had chosen to save the League by discarding what she could to lighten the load. Despite her feelings on the matter, Diana had unloaded Bruce from her burden.

Subconsciously, Hal understood she had made a valid call.

Consciously, however, now, facing the delicate accounting of the League, Hal was furious. Diana had left one of her friends by the wayside to save the rest. Bruce had nobody but them. And she'd abandoned him because that was his wish.

Fists clenching, Hal hated this version of the League. Somewhere along the way-maybe while Hal was gone, this League's heart had dried up and died. Battleworn and pragmatic, they'd lost something important: their empathy.

Was he too a twisted version of his younger self? Was he a monster created by the unrealistic expectations they had striven to uphold?

What sort of ending do heroes get? Do they die like Barry did, on the field of glory? Will they live long enough to become villains like Sinestro? Or would they outlive their usefulness and rot alone in their loneliness like Bruce?

Despite his best attempts, Hal could do nothing to change Barry's and Sinestro's ending. But, Bruce's ending? Stubbornness might have been a trait associated with Batman but, so was it associated with Hal.

"I have to go," Diana said, thus breaking their staring contest. "The world needs hope, now, more than ever."

Especially since Joker's last murderous escape, she seemed to imply.

Hal angrily gestured the door. "Don't let me stop you from saving the day, _Princess_." She frowned at the nickname Batman used to say to annoy her.

Nodding, she gathered her bag and left her room.

And Hal was left to ponder the future he'd seen illustrated in Bruce's struggle. If professionals were out of the equation because of secrecy, who would help him if he was ever incapacitated?

***

Someone had rigged explosions in Washington, DC,'s biggest mall. Dozens were dead. Diana hadn't been there for the rescue mission; she'd only known about it after she had arrived at her home. Had she been there, she might have averted the tragedy.

Steve would have told her it was vanity to blame oneself for the actions of others. Hubris, she intimately knew, brought on a person's downfall.

She concentrated on the task at hand: finding and arresting the person responsible for the mayhem.

The police officers noted they had heard, from a witness, someone covered in a cape, had escaped to the roof by the fire escape. They were waiting for the snipers to go in position.

Since Wonder Woman didn't need snipers to apprehend a human, she made her way to the rooftop. The quietness unnerved her more than it should. After a few quick scans of the area, she finally noticed a figure hidden behind garbage boxes.

"Give yourself up," Wonder Woman ordered. "There is no way out." The figure kept its silence.

The superhero carefully made her way to the hiding place. She unhooked her lasso. Circling the figure, Diana kept her eyes peeled because all of her instincts were telling her this was a trap. She lassoed the silhouette and pulled it slowly towards her. "Come quietly. Let's put an end to this madness."

While stumbling forward, the figure's hood slipped. Deadly white skin and glinting eyes. Madness incarnated, the man in her lasso was a fearsome monster.

"Great Hera..."

His lips curled up. "Sur-priiiise."

The next moment, gas was spewing around.

Diana jumped back a few paces and held her breathe. Unfortunately, this gas seemed cutaneously transmitted.

Already, her responsibilities drifted away on a bubble of happiness. Why was she so worried? Life was like a pinata party; you just needed to hit it hard enough and, it would explode into a fountain of candy. Joyful and simple.

Joker cracked a devious smile that she thought was hilarious. He tilted his head. "Isn't it time to visit an old friend?"

Diana felt herself smile, a laugh on the tip of her tongue. Hera, this was so funny! And this man had to be the wittiest being she'd ever seen.

She felt herself nod amongst the laughter that kept gurgling out of her mouth.

The clown gestured to her that she should show the way. Without hesitation, she untangled him from her lasso and gathered him over her shoulders.

"Skiddido!" he yelled at the police officers. "This was a nice event, but we've got a friend's reunion to attend. And he's not a patient one, that one."

Still giggling at his antics, Wonder Woman flew in a direction she knew by heart. The clown kept making funny jokes.

 

***  
_Present, Wayne Manor._

 

_"Thank you."_

Bruce raged at the words. Filthy and asphyxia-inducing gratitude-words Superman should have never told him- filled his mind, destroyed his carefully constructed calm-facade.

What affront, Alfred would have sassily said.

What pain, instead, Bruce felt tremored in his body, pointless shackles as they were. Repugnance shook his puppet-like body.

Closing his eyes, he remembered Talia in all of her glory; killing their son and insinuating herself in her reborn son's life. Bruce had tolerated her because his son had wanted her in his life, in spite of everything.

 _"Parents have the say of life or death over their children,"_ she had the gall to say.

Bruce wanted to drive both her and Clark out of his mind, to wash the blood they had shed.

Swallowing his pills, he tried to calm himself. 'Accept what is,' an old guru once told him. 'That is the hardest thing to do, yet, it is needed if you want to change.'

This acceptance or change was not part of Bruce's capacity. Overthinking, he'd concluded incidents were not coincidental; everything was flowing out of decisions. His. Other people's.

Blame was the driving engine of this world and; much of it laid at his feet.

Bruce felt the crash before he even heard it. The Manor's ceiling caved at the extreme force exorcised on it. Materials fell around Bruce as he shielded himself from the sky falling literally upon his head.

On instinct, he rolled out of the chair. A blade cut through it. Diana's blade. Said woman was holding it in her hands, a twisted smirk upon her lips. "Bruce," she whispered.

Bruce forced his uncooperative body to run. He had hoped for a dumb and slow enemy, not Diana, ruthless, swift and competent-and seemingly poisoned or corrupted.

His legs already protested as he dodged another attack.

"Diana," he tried, "You don't want to do this."

Diana smiled sweetly at him as she aimed another attack.

"But, she doooo-oes!" an insidious yet familiar voice slurred from the living room. Instantly, Bruce knew none of his contingency plans were good enough to deal with this situation. Diana had no Kryptonite; any of his counters for her required him to be battle-fit. Seeing how she was swifter than him, running away wasn't even an option.

He threw a smoke bomb and ran toward the kitchen. Diana was already on his heels.

He pressed his communicator, barely parrying the blade's path with a chair. "Requesting assistance. Diana compromised. Joker Gas. Manor."

"We're coming," J'onn's reassuring voice answered.

Bruce's body completely shut down; he couldn't even twitch away from Diana's hold on his arm. He tried, unsuccessfully, to twist away.

"Well... well... He's not a good host, isn't he?" Joker was chewing on something. "Will you be a doll and render him unconscious? We've got places to be and some catching up to do."

Bruce felt the void entreat his consciousness; a call he was quick to answer.

The last thing he heard was his archnemesis's troubling crackling laugh.


	8. Search Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joker is up to something evil.

There were many types of tension. Some, J'onn J'onzz had once learned, was pleasing to the human esthetic. Like simmering water, tension could, one day, overflow.

This tension, J'onn was sure, was unbearable for all.

Usually, in crisis, the member would rally around Superman's charisma, Batman's dramatic excellence or Wonder Woman's clear-cut vision. However, the only one present was the worse culprit for the tension.

The downside to Superman's charisma was that his feelings were infectious, even were they detrimental.

Now, Superman paced more nervously than Wally had when Justice League first introduced him; he muttered too fast to be understood; his pupils were blown open, terror finely printed in them and; his face drawn with explosive energy. Even the most experienced and bravest superheroes, such as Green Lantern and Hawkgirl, looked nervous, drawn unto Superman's negative vortex.

They couldn't enter, frayed nerves, into this rescue mission without worsening the situation; J'onn was sure of that. And, of all the persons present, he was the best choice to lead them for a panoply of reasons.

First, he was the first to respond to Bruce's call, which usually meant he was the first to establish the protocol. Secondly, he was the only being who had ever successfully given Joker's 'sanity' back, for a short period, to him. Thirdly, J'onn was not one to be provoked by even the most aggravating acts. Against a ruthless monster like Joker, this was an invaluable advantage.

J'onn had already asked Green Arrow and Green Lantern to analyze the Manor's crime scene; he'd sent Black Canary to scout Gotham and; he'd alerted Jim Gordon, Batwoman and Harley Quinn about Joker's return and Batman's and Wonder Woman's situation. If Bruce and Wonder Woman were in Gotham, Gothamites would be more efficient in the search.

Meanwhile, the Atom was overlooking the Joker venom antidote program Bruce had recently upgraded and; J'onn was looking into possible videos of the incident.

Ordinarily, someone else would have taken control of the situation. Nobody in the Watchtower seemed ready to take control.

Someone had to settle down Superman before it derailed their efforts, J'onn decided.

"Superman," he gently said, "we need you at your full strength. Could you take a sunbath?"

"I-can't-leave. Bruce-is-he-might- _ **die**_. Diana-too. They-need-me. It's-all-my-fault-I-should-have-known-I-shouldn't-have...," Superman answered with superspeed.

J'onn released the monitor and faced the most powerful man on the planet. "Superman, you are still affected by Kryptonite. We need you at your full strength. Can you do that for them?"

Superman stopped pacing and looked at J'onn like a lost child. "They'll die," he prophesied before flying off.

Hal and Shiera appeared more than a little unnerved.

"Hawkgirl, may I ask you to man monitor duty? We still need to respond to other emergencies."

"On it." She seemed relieved to escape the suffocating room.

"Atom," J'onn asked, "will Batman's last update on the antidote be adequate for this one?"

Atom shook his head. "I'm a physicist, not a biologist or a chemist. To my knowledge, the formula he provided you a few days ago may be able to work for this strain of the virus. I'm replicating the antidote."

Green Arrow walked into the room. "Hal, I know you already tried with your ring. Did you find anything at all?"

Green Lantern shook his head. "Sorry, buddy. It wasn't much help."

The other man's face turned grim. "Pretty bird?" he spoke into his comms. She must have answered something because the goatee wearing archer continued speaking. "Keep me updated, okay?"

Finally, he turned to J'onn. "Did you find any hint of anything on the cameras?"

"Someone shorted them," the Martian, dutifully replied.

The blond sighed and gestured to the computer. "I'll give it a try. Maybe I'll find something else. Is Victor coming?"

"He's not currently responding to our signals."

A few moments later, bent over his computer, Green Arrow was typing new directives at a heightened pace. Suddenly, a file blinked into existence.

"That's suspicious as hell," the blond archer muttered. Green Lantern and J'onn unconsciously moved closer. Even Atom looked worryingly at them.

Green Arrow typed a few commands: nothing happened. Then, and only then did he open the file. It was a video.

The taunt blond hero pressed start; the stilted angle of the camera seemed focused on some neon green ceiling, floor or wall. J'onn was not one to be impressed with dramatics but, even he felt this was ominous.

Eyebrows furrowed, Green Arrow tried to advance the cursor in the video. There was nothing forward, almost as if the video was live.

Then, the camera's angle changed and; a deadly pale face with blood-stained lips appeared near the frame. "Good moooorning America!" The green-haired, crazed man smiled at the camera he seemed to hold at the length of his arms.

"Where-are-they?" Superman entreated from beside them. When had he returned? He looked almost as chalk-white as the Joker.

Green Arrow started typing a series of coding, probably to track the video's origin.

"Today, I've got a very _special_ caller to introduce to our audience." He waggled a finger at the camera. "For now, it's just the boring Justice Lambs tuning in. But, I'm sure _plenty_ will like a piece of this grubby _exclusive_. Reunions are such a _nice_ event." Joker swept away a fake tear from his cheeks.

Joker looked at something out of the camera's range. " _Seems_ like our guest is ready to rejoice at our little impromptu reunion." Meanwhile, the camera shook in the madman's grip as he laughed.

Except for Green Arrow's fingers flying across the keyboard, everyone seemed frozen by the mounting worry; somehow, Joker's little show seemed worse than no news at all about Batman's and Wonder Woman's ultimate fate.

The camera panned over to an upset looking Bruce Wayne; tied to the four corners of a table, the man was struggling against the chains, straps, rubber bands and duck tape. As if for insurance, knives went through both his palms and feet, thus pinning him to the table more securely. Otherwise, Bruce appeared unharmed.

In other circumstances, J'onn would have felt reassured by that fact.

Now, he was only trying to figure out Joker's game and location; J'onn had read enough reports about Joker to prognosticate torments to his friend. Beside him, he could see Superman stop breathing; Green Lantern swallowing and Green Arrow cursing under his breath.

"Green Lantern," J'onn said, "Could you send an update to our standby members? Green Arrow, could you capture a shot of the surroundings? Maybe someone from Gotham would recognize the colour, lighting and texture of the location."

Green Arrow and Green Lantern hurried to obey J'onn's suggestions.

"Blackie," Joker said as he moved forward toward Batman, leaving his camera on some unsteady object. "I've thought about _our_ relationship." He gingerly poked Bruce's cheeks with his finger. Bruce, collected as ever, only glared at him. " _You_ know; after what happened with your _bestie_ , I think it's time for you to look for a new _best friend_." Joker gave an ugly smile- it would have been almost ridiculous if it was not as alarming.

Gesturing dramatically to himself, Joker said: "As your audience all know, I'm the best candidate for that job." He started counting the reasons on his fingers. "One. We hang out a lot together- _hang_ out, get it? Two. We're both into the _bondage_ game- don't even deny how much you're into it: the leather kink is undeniable. Where was I? Oh, yes, we _compleeete_ each other!" Joker leaned closer to Bruce's ear as if to whisper secrets; however, seeing how distinct his words were, it was clear it was part of his show. "So, what do you say? New _bestie_?"

J'onn could feel Superman's tangible wretchedness uprising into anger. His clenched fists were proof of how much Joker was getting under his skin.

Bruce spat at Joker, defiant hard in his eyes. Yet, contrary to J'onn's worry, Joker did not retaliate: instead, he chuckled. "Good one, _buddy_. You're the real hard-working straight man to my act." Joker receded from Bruce's personal space, a short-term disaster averted. J'onn knew that relying on the unpredictable villain's behaviour to gain time was a foolish pursuit.

"As your new bestie, Blackie, I've got to be honest with you. I've got bombs placed everywhere!" His arms outstretched while his eyes shone with manic glee. "If you try to send a message to your little lambs, well, everyone gets an _**exploooozion**_!" The madman winked at the camera. "Aren't I generous? Oprah would be _soooo_ proud." Preening, Joker continued his horrid discourse. "And, because I'm such a good friend, I expect you to be as honest with me." The golden thread that appeared in the madman's hands made Green Arrow grit his teeth. Diana's lasso was in the hands of the Joker. Where was she?

Joker tilted his head as he looked down on a stoic Bruce. "The Wonder gal is still alive, by the way." Since he was touching the truth lasso, Joker had to be telling the truth. "If you don't start to answer any of my questions within three seconds or if you stall or if you die, I'll explose the bombs. Lots of _so-called_ 'innocents' will die." He even quoted the word innocents with his fingers.

Smiling dazzlingly at the camera, Joker draped Bruce's exposed hand with the lasso. " _Who_ are _you_?"

J'onn could see Bruce's inner fight in his stance and eyes: revealing his secrets to this madman went against everything he stood for. However, at the end of the three seconds, Bruce reluctantly admitted: "I'm Batman."


	9. Therapy (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some type of therapy isn't for everyone.

For some time, the questions seemed innocuous, which somehow made it worse. Ollie knew it was only a question of time before Joker would hit one of Bruce's countless landmines. There was no way Ollie was looking forward to that particular explosion.

Bruce and Joker would be the two people Ollie least wanted to be subjected to the truth lasso: the world was dark enough without getting a glimpse in either of their deranged heads.

"What's your favourite colour, _Batsy_?"

"I don't have one."

"What's your favourite meal?"

"I don't have one."

Joker had grinned at that answer. "Well, well. Aren't _you_ interesting?"

"I'm not."

Joker sat on Bruce's table, legs dangling over the edges.

"Come on, now if you weren't interesting, I wouldn't be interested, _would I_?"

"One statement doesn't have anything to do with the other one. Some people are interested in uninteresting things," Bruce answered.

Joker's smile widened. "Are you stalling?"

"I am answering your questions."

Joker's eyes glinted in mischievousness, ghost fires haunting his disgusting human corpse.

"As your new best friend," Joker started, "How would you kill me? I'm sure you've got some _awesome_  ideas."

From the computer screen, Ollie felt his heart falter. During his stint as Bruce's friend, he had learned how obsessive his former friend could be. For one semester, Bruce had forgone most of his classes' attendance to read on persuasive interrogations and its long history of torture. He could almost remember, with shivers, Bruce's 'efficiency' graph.

"One death wouldn't be enough for what you have done," Bruce curtly answered disgust and disdain in his tone. "I designed a prototype machine that would let the Lazarus pit water fall on you each time you died until there would no longer any Lazarus pit water left. Each time, you would die either by killing yourself or by the lack of water or sheer insanity. Maybe you would eventually regain your sanity. Then, you could reflect on all the things you did while you were insane. Best of all, you would have no audience to see you. There would be no cameras, no microphones. It'll be just you dying over and over in anonymity and alone, encased in rock."

The answer was even worse than Ollie thought it would be; Ollie wasn't a saint either, but he had never thought of letting someone die over and over in a claustrophobic space. He could feel, rather than see, Hal's, J'onn's and Atom's unease at Bruce's truthful answer. Superman, on the other hand, just looked in distress about Bruce's situation.

Suddenly, Bruce's head tilted in a very recognizable way, one that, despite the years, Ollie remembered its importance; his imprisoned teammate was sending him a message. Subtly, Ollie implanted a USB and duplicated the video on it.

Joker applauded the answer with an exaggerated grin affixed on his lips. "Aaaah, so you _do_ think about me all the time! How  _sweet_! Tell me a _secret_ you've never told anyone."

Bruce kept his silence, though Ollie could see it was taking strength to resist the truth lasso.

Joker rolled his eyes. " _Fine._ What secret haven't you told anyone?" 

"I lost almost all my sense of taste ten years ago."

"We can do better than this." Joker looked disappointed. He tilted his head, as if he was pondering which question would do it. "I got one," he said. 

"Green Lantern, any news?" J'onn cautiously asked.

"All of the Joker's hideouts Harley knew about were empty. Batwoman is investigating the green screen background with the police. Only one place sells it in Gotham. Nobody seems to have bought that sort of green screen in the past week or so."

"What is it the thing you're most _ashamed_ of, Batsy?" Joker sweetly asked.

F*ck. Ollie hated his next move, yet, how else were they supposed to catch Joker and free Diana and Bruce? 

"J'onn," Ollie said as he rose, the USB stealthily palmed, "I know who can help us find them. Keep the fort." Quickly, he made his way to the exit, hoping he wouldn't be in the room when Bruce answered  _that_  question.

An impossibly strong hand on his shoulder stopped his escape. "Where are you going?" Abruptly, Ollie was missing Superman's superspeed anxious voice. He had loaded his slowed down words with so much suspicion and anger that it hurt. 

"...premediated Alfred's murder. I almost went through it," Ollie heard Bruce say. That was crazier than even  _he_ 'd predicted.  

"What stopped you? I thought you'd be the kind of man to complete his plans. Last-minute 'moral' jitters are for the _weak-minded_ or the _tragically insane nutjobs_. Don't disappoint me now, that I've gone through all this trouble to be your best friend _for-_ **_E_ ** _eeever and ever-_ _we were meant to be_ _,_ " Joker grinned back, while he rubbed Bruce's leg with his hand in a simulacrum of a massage. Ollie swallowed as he saw Bruce flinching at the unwelcomed touch. 

Superman's eyes gleamed to a colour uncomfortably closer to red as Ollie refused to answer. 

"You're not letting  **anyone**  see that video," Superman ordered as he tightened his grip on his ally's shoulder and turned him around.

Green Arrow's gaze swept to his other allies; there was no way he could afford to fight or discuss with this upset Superman, not now. J'onn discreetly moved closer to them. 

"On the night I had planned to murder Alfred, someone called with developments on my main goal's search. Killing Alfred was secondary to achieving my first goal. I delayed killing him," Bruce's voice continued onscreen, although Ollie refused to look at it. 

"Someone?" Joker teased as Ollie tensed from both the awful onscreen conversation and Superman's evident displeasure. 

"Lex Luthor," Bruce said at the same time as Superman. 

"You were going to give that to Lex Luthor," Superman snarled as he broke through Ollie's shoulder's skin with his fingers. 

Confrontation it was. "Yes," Ollie answered as he narrowed his eyes at Superman. " _Because_  that's what Bruce wants me to do. _He_  wants me to ask for Lex's help. We're not getting anywhere with our sources; nobody can sense Joker, Diana or Bruce; Lex is the only one- **_still alive_ **\- who knows one of Bruce's coded language he can use without getting caught by Joker." Ollie explained. "Can I leave?"

 Expecting the unexpected was all good in theory, but getting flung into a Watchtower wall by Superman hadn't made Ollie's list. Heaving, his back alight with pain, Ollie lost his breath.

"You're not showing that to Lex!" Superman yelled. Ollie tried to think what was their contingency plan if Superman went insane. His vision blurred around the edges. Thinking was too hard.

" _Bestie, honey_ , maybe you should see a _shrink_  about that," Joker's annoying voice cut through Ollie's confusion.

"Superman," J'onn said with the same steadiness as if he was inviting him for tea. "Green Arrow is trying his best to save Batman. May I ask you to let him down?" 

"NO!" Superman answered as he slammed Ollie again on the wall. "We can't let anyone see the video!"

"Well, Batsy, I understand your reluctance to share your _isssssues_ with just anyone, but as your new best friend,  _for-Eeeeever and ever_ , maybe I can be your new shrink- _now_ , that's a _fantastic_ idea! You get it **_all_ **  off your chest; I get to know **_all_ **about you. That's a win-win situation, wouldn't you say?" 

Ollie waited for a beat, breathing heavily. When Superman's hand's released him, he fell hard on the floor. He glanced up to see J'onn's eyes glowing as it did when he used his mental powers. "Go," J'onn ordered, "I do not know how long I can keep him asleep."

"No," Bruce stated in the video. "I lose. I _always_  lose."

 Ollie stood and took in Superman's fallen form, Hal's glowing green ring, Atom's scared expression, J'onn's steadfast presence and Bruce's and Joker's onscreen exchange. Ollie wiped the blood off his lips with his sleeve. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

While he walked to the exit, he heard Joker say, " _Weeeeelll_ , maybe we should start talking about your childhood. What is your civilian birth name, _Batsy deary_ ? I'm sure our _audience- whoever that includes at this point-_  has made guesses, but it's nice to confirm it."

"Bruce Thomas Wayne." 

Ollie closed the door behind him with intense relief; maybe his conversation with Lex will be unpleasant; however, it sure wasn't going to beat hearing Bruce's 'therapy' session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what kind of questions Joker will ask about Bruce's childhood? (hint, it's pretty evil)


End file.
